“Talk ’bout _dreams_! dey wa’n’t no dream could beat dat, I don’t keer how twisted it mought be. An’ den, ma’m, she sot back dar an’ tol’ me de whole tale ’bout how she come ter be dar. I’ll never tell it like she did; dey ain’t nobody in de wide worl’ kin do dat. But it seem like she an’ Marse Jesse wuz stayin’ in de same neighborhoods, er stayin’ at de same place, he a-fiddlin’ an’ she a-knockin’ on de peanner er de harp, I fergit which. Anyhow, dey seed a heap er one an’er. Bofe un um had come dar fum way off yan’, an’ ain’t got nobody but deyse’f fer ter ’pen’ on, an’ dat kinder flung um togedder. I ’speck dey must er swapt talk ’bout love an’ marryin’—you know yo’se’f, ma’m, dat dat’s de way young folks is. Howsomever dat may be, Marse Jesse, des ter tease ’er, sot down one day an’ writ a long letter ter his wife. Tooby sho’ he ain’t got no wife, but he des make out he got one, an’ dat letter he lef’ layin’ ’roun’ whar Miss Sadie kin see it. ’Twa’n’t in no envelyup, ner nothin’, an’ you know mighty well, ma’m, dat when a ’oman, young er ol’, see dat kinder letter layin’ ’roun’ she’d die ef she don’t read it. Fum de way Miss Sadie talk, dat letter must ’a’ stirred up a coolness ’twix’ um, kaze de mornin’ when he wuz gwine on dat ’scursion, Marse Jesse pass by de place whar she wuz settin’ at an’ flung de letter in her lap an’ say, ‘What’s in dar wuz fer you.’ “Wellum, wid dat he wuz gone, an’ de fus’ news Miss Sadie know’d de papers wuz full er de names er dem what got drownded in de boat, an’ Marse Jesse head de roll, ’kaze he wuz de mos’ pop’lous music-maker in de whole settlement. Den dar wuz de gal an’ de letter. I wish I could tell dis part like she tol’ me settin’ dar in my house. You’ll never git it straight in yo’ head less’n you’d ’a’ been dar an’ hear de way she tol’ it. Nigger ez I is, I know mighty well dat a white ’oman ain’t got no business parmin’ ’erse’f off ez a man’s wife. But de way she tol’ it tuck all de rough aidges off’n it. She wuz dar in dat big town, wuss’n a wilderness, ez you may say, by ’erse’f, nobody ’penin’ on ’er an’ nobody ter ’pen’ on, tired down an’ plum wo’ out, an’ wid all dem kinder longin’s what you know yo’se’f, ma’am, all wimmen bleeze ter have, ef dey er white er ef dey er black. “Yit she ain’t never tol’ nobody dat she wuz Marse Jesse’s wife. She des han’ de letter what she’d kep’ ter Miss Fanny, an’ fell down on de flo’ in a dead faint, an’ she say dat ef it hadn’t but ’a’ been fer me, she’d a got out er de bed dat fust night an’ went ’way fum dar; an’ I know dat’s so, too, bekaze she wuz ranklin’ fer ter git up fum dar. But at de time I put all dat down ter de credit er de deleeriums, an’ made ’er stay in bed.